


supernova

by blawky



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Sports, Friends to Lovers, Hockey, Hockey AU, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Slow Burn, figure skating AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-10 01:50:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18650476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blawky/pseuds/blawky
Summary: Primarily told from the perspective of (mostly) reliable narrator Iwaizumi Hajime, this fanfiction will be multiple chapters, and will cover the lives and relationship of Iwaizumi Hajime and Oikawa Tooru, two freshmen students. Iwaizumi is an exceptionally talented hockey player, and Oikawa is an Olympic-bound figure skater whose talent is almost as big as his (falsified) ego.Alternatively: Iwaizumi questions all his life decisions while navigating a complicated friendship (and crush) with Oikawa.





	supernova

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested in updates on this work, please feel free to follow my tumblr! (manaflush.tumblr.com)
> 
> Firstly, thank you all for reading. Chapter lengths will vary, but most will be around the 10-20k mark, as this one is. A minor disclaimer: some creative liberties have been taken with dates, as not all of them match so conveniently as I might like. Most ships besides Iwaoi are relatively background—though Suga and Daichi do feature prominently in this work. For the sake of ease, Sawamura and Sugawara are both third years in college and Iwaizumi/Oikawa are both freshmen. All characters in this piece will have their grades denoted upon their introduction, but the major ones, like Bokuto and Kuroo, are typically also freshmen, as Bokuto and Kuroo are. 
> 
> Furthermore, this work will be predominantly told from the perspective of Iwaizumi, with a few other characters occasionally taking the mantle. 
> 
> Feel free to message me through my Tumblr or comment on this piece with any questions whatsoever! I hope you all enjoy this story!

Upon first setting foot in the hockey rink Iwaizumi Hajime will call home for the next four years, perhaps more than dorm rooms, his first thought is—

 

_Why is it so empty?_

 

It is then that Hajime, unsuspecting and blissfully unaware of just what sort of horrors he’s about to be dragged into, hears a voice as melodic as it is irritating. For a single second, he questions how that’s even physically possible before he’s tapped on the shoulder, and suddenly the voice is in his ear.

 

“You look lost,” it chimes, and Hajime turns to see—definitely not a hockey player. The boy from whose lips the strange voice escaped from is a tall, lanky figure, slender and pretty in all the ways a hockey player is assuredly not. Brown hair, purposely, meticulously curled falls over eyes of molten caramel, glittering with inquisition and intrigue that makes Hajime irrationally nervous.

 

“Err, this is the hockey rink, right?”

  
  
The boy tips his head back and giggles—literally _giggles,_ like some sort of fucking demon—and shakes his head, curls bouncing playfully. “No, silly! It’s just the rink, as we call it. It _used_ to be the figure skating rink,” he begins, and suddenly his lower lip pouts and Hajime feels ill at ease for a lot more reasons than just annoyance, “but then you brutish _hockey_ players decided you needed somewhere near the university, so now we have to _share_.” The boy’s pout never leaves, and if anything, it only increases in depth.

 

So does Hajime’s ire.

 

“Wasn’t the old rink like, ten miles away?”

 

“Nine and a half!” A grin crosses the boy’s lips as he chirps out the correction, babied voice climbing another octave. Hajime knew figure skaters could be pretentious, but holy _hell_.

 

“..Right. Nine and a half. Nobody wants to drag _all_ our shit that far.”

 

The boy’s finger touches his nose, and Hajime resists the urge to literally bite it off right then and there. “What’s done is done! I can’t fix it, but I’ll whine about it anyways. It helps me cope.” For a second, Hajime thinks he’s serious, that maybe this space is sacred, but then the demon is giggling again, and Hajime counts to ten in his head.

 

“So, what’s your name, mysterious brooding hockey player? I haven’t seen you before, and I make it a point to know _all_ of the cretins who share my rink.”

 

“Iwaizumi Hajime,” Hajime offers gruffly. God, can this just be over with? Hajime tries, in vain, to find any of his teammates, or literally _anyone_ who could save him from this hell.

 

Unfortunately, Hajime has always been painfully early—and so is this lovely little gremlin. A little gremlin, Hajime thinks sourly, who seems to tower over Hajime despite only a few inches of difference, from all he could tell.

 

The brown-haired gremlin bites his lips, dazzlingly white teeth pulling back his lips. Hajime’s heart skips a beat and he curses whatever cruel god is listening.

 

“Hm. Iwaizumi,” he says, as if tasting the name on his lips. “No, that doesn’t work! Hajime?” An eyebrow wiggles, and Hajime’s blood goes hot.

 

“Absolutely not. Iwaizumi.”

 

“Iwaiz-I’ve got it! Iwa-chan!” The brunette tilts his head back and laughs, this time a full laugh, and pinches one of Hajime’s cheeks. He slaps it away.

 

“No.”

 

“Oh, don’t be such a stick in the mud, Iwa-chan! If we’re going to be the only ones here early, we might as well make something of it! I’m Oikawa Tooru.”

 

“Asskawa.”

 

“That’s mean!”

 

“Suck it up.”

 

“Mmh,” Oikawa whines, and Hajime allows him to live without a broken nose. For now.

 

“Are you a first year?” The question is innocuous enough, and Oikawa’s eyes are wide and owlish.

 

“Yeah,” he says with a nod. “I’m studying kinesiology. Sports medicine. You?”

 

“Ooh,” Oikawa chimes. “I’m a first year too!”

 

Hajime furrows a brow. “Why do you care about the rink being shared, then? It’s not like you were here before the new policy.”

 

“I don’t appreciate your tone! I take this rink very seriously. I would protect it with my life.”

 

“You’ve been here for like, an hour, maximum.”

 

Oikawa grins mischievously. “Actually, figure skating started practicing two weeks ago!” His chin tilts upward in a way that serves only to make him look like some sort of petulant prince, which, honestly, is probably his intent. Twerp.

 

“Right. Two weeks. Whatever, same difference.”

 

“Not _really_. Two weeks is a lot longer than an hour, Iwa-chan! I’d think you were good at math, but I guess I’m mistaken.”

 

“Why would I be good at math? Kinesiology is about the body, dumbass.”

 

“Hey! That’s rude. And, well, usually _pretty_ people are the ones who are bad at math.” Oikawa stretches, yawning like a cat, and Hajime socks him in the gut. The figure skater sputters, betrayal written all across his features.

 

“Iwa-chan is so mean to me! You should be lucky that I’m so benevolent, or I’d report you for misconduct.” Oikawa’s tone practically dribbles with his saccharine falsetto, smiling like the brat he is.

 

“I’m gonna kill-”

 

“Threatening the figure skaters _already_ , Iwaizumi? You haven’t changed at all.” The voice is so familiar, and Hajime spins to see—

 

Sawamura. He breaks out into a grin, despite himself, and waves at the elder hockey player. They’d been on the same team when Sawamura was still in high school. He’d been the captain there, too, and now he was Hajime’s captain again. Honestly, he couldn’t think of anyone better for the position. Sawamura was caring, but he knew when to put his foot down, and more importantly, how. Plus, he was just a damn good player.

 

“Iwa-chan is vicious,” Oikawa chirps from behind Hajime, and Hajime resists the deadly temptation that compels him to elbow the skater. Hard.

 

“You should make him do extra work! Maybe some push-ups.” Hajime doesn’t need to turn around to see that Oikawa is grinning that shit-eating grin he got whenever he was tormenting Hajime. He’d known Oikawa for maybe ten minutes, and already it felt like a year.

 

_Four years of this,_ he grumbled to himself, but somehow, his heart didn’t seem quite in it.

 

What was up with that?

 

* * *

 

 

Practice is good. It’s really, really good to be back on the rink after a two week rest period—for most people, that’s nothing, but for Hajime, it’s a long time to be away. The team is running a few last drills, bobbing and weaving through bright orange safety cones when Hajime hears the distinct sound of skates digging into the ice—hard.

 

He cants his gaze towards the source of the sound, and suddenly, he sees it.

 

Oikawa, in his natural element, clearly. The figure skater moves through the ice like some sort of fascinating beast, every single glide so effortless it looks like he’s hardly even trying.

 

He is, though. Hajime can see it in the way his arms tense, his calves tightening just as he launches into a spiraling jump that leaves Hajime’s stomach fluttering—

 

“Iwaizumi! Are you asleep at the switch?” A hand lightly thwacks his head right as he runs straight into an orange cone.

 

Sawamura’s voice is low as he murmurs something to Hajime, and he strains slightly to hear it.

 

“You’re already better than half these kids,” his former—current—captain says, smiling lazily. “Don’t get complacent. Outskate them, or you’re not gonna see the rink.”

 

Hajime forces himself back into his natural state, and suddenly, all thoughts of Oikawa Tooru and his stupidly perfect form dribble away into...almost-nothing. Whatever it is, it’s tucked away in a safe corner of his mind as he runs through the drills, quickly passing the player who’d usurped his place at the head of the pack.

 

He was a first year, but there was no way in hell he’d settle for anything short of starter. It would be an affront to Sawamura, to Karasuno, if he didn’t.

 

But there’s still something in his mind, constantly drifting back to whatever Oikawa was when he stepped onto the ice, all of those pretenses and posturing dribbling away into...perfection? As close to it as a human could come, maybe.

 

* * *

 

 

When practice ends, whatever fondness Hajime had started to feel for Oikawa turns into a gaping void of annoyance as the slender skater glides up beside him on his way to the bus.

 

“Iwa-chan,” he chirps, smiling noxiously. “You’re going to Captain Sawamura’s thing, right?” Oikawa twirls a strand of his brunette hair as he talks.

 

“Stop that. You’re gonna rip out your hair.” Hajime only knows this because he had the same habit. “And yeah, I’m going. How do you even know about that? It’s not like he went on the loudspeaker and mentioned it.”

 

“You’re not my mom, Iwa-chan.” His finger still drifts back towards his sides, where he then tucks it into the tie-dyed hoodie he’s sporting, bereft of any insignia save for a small alien head in the top right.

 

“Also, your right winger talks a lot. Babbles, even.” Bokuto. Of course.

 

“You can’t just go because you heard someone else talk about it.”

 

“Of course not! But Bokuto’s dating Akaashi, who’s on the figure skating team, so I’m tagging along.” Oikawa frowns. “Does Iwa-chan not want me along? I’m hurt.” It’s clearly fake, but something about the flicker in Oikawa’s eyes when he spoke leaves a bitter taste in Hajime’s mouth.

 

“Even if I didn’t, could I really stop you?”

  
  
“Oh, no. Definitely not!” Oikawa beams at Hajime.

 

“Trashykawa.”

 

“Iwa-chaaan.”

 

“Trashykaaawa.”

 

“Hm. This isn’t fun anymore.”

 

“Was it ever?”

 

Oikawa sighs, sticking his tongue out at Hajime. They approach the bus stop, and Hajime sends a stare at Oikawa.

 

“This is my stop. You can stop harassing me, now.”

 

“It’s my stop, too. I’m in the Prestige Building.”

 

The Prestige Building was the dorm hub where students who had been offered scholarships for athletics were housed. Hajime was there, too, along with his roommate, Kenma, who was possibly-almost-dating Kuroo, Bokuto’s roommate and a member of the figure skating team.

 

“..So am I,” he says, sighing with defeat.

 

“Why the long face, Iwa-chan? We’ll be best friends forever now!”

 

Hajime curses at whatever god will listen, and grunts out his unwilling acquiescence.

 

If Oikawa notices, or cares, he makes no note of it.

 

* * *

 

 

Oikawa spends the entire bus ride chatting Hajime’s off about aliens, of all things. It’s weird, enough so that Hajime lets Oikawa into his dorm—first mistake—to show him a quick documentary about aliens—second mistake—before they go to the party.

 

It ends up being a two-hour documentary, and they only have ten minutes between the end of the shitty movie and the start of the party. Oikawa doesn’t even notice, peering at Hajime with owlish, unblinking eyes.

 

“Well?” Oikawa asks, eager.

 

“It was…” He pauses, and then sees Oikawa’s face. None of the fake smugness is there, this time. It’s strange to see the figure skater without all the posturing. Hajime feels like he’s seeing something he shouldn’t, something private.

 

“It was good,” he says, and Oikawa’s face lights up.

 

“Good! We have so many more to watch later.”

 

“..Later?”

 

“After the party, silly. Kuroo and Kenma are probably gonna be gross in my dorm, so I was just going to sleep here.”

 

“Were you going to, y’know, ask? We just met. Today.”

 

“Iwa-chan! I thought we were going to be best friends! It’s just the one night. And we have so many more movies to watch!”

 

Hajime groans. It is in that exact moment that Hajime makes a potentially life-altering decision.

 

“Okay, whatever. Just the one night.”

 

Oikawa beams, pinching Hajime’s cheek. “I knew you would come around! Now, come on. We’re late.”

 

“Wh-What time is it, Oikawa?”

 

“6:55,” he chirps, coming to a stand. His sports bag has already been deposited by the couch, skate blades peeking out.

 

“The party’s at seven, Shittykawa.”

 

“It’s like, only seven floors up.” Oikawa seems unfazed.

 

“There’s no elevator, dumbass.”

 

“It’s a good thing I’m so tall! Iwa-chan will have to run if he wants to be on time.” Oikawa laughs and darts out the door while Hajime mutters obscenities.

 

* * *

 

 

They arrive to the party at 7:01. Nobody notices, but Hajime still feels embarrassed.

 

Late to his first party of university, and the one hosted by his _captain._ He’ll never live down the self-inflicted shame.

 

Not that the gremlin who created that shame cares at all. Oikawa has already slipped into the party proper, solo cup already in hand. He appears to be pouring something into it, and it’s then that Hajime catches the label of the drink he’s pouring haphazardly into a cup.

 

It’s literally the only fruity drink in sight, probably more sugar than alcohol.

 

Of course.

 

Electing not to become the babysitter of the figure skater who has wormed his way into monopolizing this entire day, despite literally _just_ meeting Hajime, he slips towards Sawamura and a pretty grey-haired boy with the kind of serenity that seems to almost emit a sort of soothing languor, putting everyone around him at ease. Hajime remembers him—Sugawara, Sawamura’s boyfriend from high school. He was talented, from what he could remember.

 

“Sawamura!” Hajime waves, and both his captain and Sugawara turn at his voice. Sugawara offers him a kind smile and a slight wave, while Sawamura grins.

 

“Glad you could make it,” Sawamura says over the top of his cup. “I see you brought company.” He points towards Oikawa, who was smiling and chatting idly with anyone in his vicinity. The figure skater never really stopped smiling, did he? Only...there was always something a bit strange about his smile, once you were really close to his face. It was far-off, most of the time. Unless he was talking about aliens.

 

“Oh, yeah. I guess Bokuto and Akaashi invited him, but he came with me. He was over at my dorm.” Hajime’s ears go red at the implication. “Not for anything weird, I promise! He made me watch some alien documentary with him.”

 

“Uh-huh. Hey, it’s your life.” Sawamura grins. “Just don’t get distracted, or I’ll bench you for the rest of the season. Maybe even your entire life.” He takes a long sip of his drink, and Sugawara blandly hits his boyfriend’s shoulder with the back of his hand.

 

“It’s good to see you, Sugawara.” Hajime smiles at the grey-haired skater, and Sugawara smiles back, his serene mien shifting with the motion.

 

“You too, Iwaizumi. Daichi was very excited when you accepted Coach Ukai’s offer, you know. Even if he won’t admit it.”

 

“Aw, you _missed_ me.” God, he sounds like Oikawa. That little fucking gremlin was already rubbing off on him.

  
Sawamura shrugs. “Talent is talent. It’s good to have you back on the roster, Iwaizumi.”

 

Hajime smiles. He’s just about to reply when-

 

“Iwa-chaaan.” Oh, god. Is Oikawa already tipsy? There’s no way he’s already tipsy. Hajime dares a glance back.

 

He’s definitely tipsy. So he’s a lightweight, too.

 

Awesome. Of all the figure skaters Hajime _had_ to run into, it couldn’t have been literally anyone else.

 

“Fucking hell,” he murmured. Sugawara chuckled into his hand.

 

“What do you want, Shittykawa?”

 

“Why are you so mean to me?”

 

“Why are you drunk already?”

 

“I am _not_ drunk,” Oikawa asserts. He’s noticeably bereft of all the people he’d been chatting up—two of them had been practically climbing onto him. They definitely weren’t hockey players, or at least, they weren’t ones Hajime knew.

 

“Yes, you are. But fine, whatever. You’re ‘not drunk’. What do you want?”

 

“Introduce me to your friends. Iwa-chan has already abandoned me for newer, better things.”

 

Sugawara laughs again. “Actually, we’re older, much lamer things. Sugawara Kōshi.”

 

Oikawa slides up next to Hajime, leaning slightly on him.

 

Great. So he was even clingier drunk.

 

“Hello! I’m Oikawa Tooru.” Clumsily, he offers his hand, and Sugawara takes it with a smile.

 

“Sawamura Daichi. I’m...Iwa-chan’s captain.” Sawamura grins wickedly at Hajime, and he realizes that if there is a god, he is a cruel master indeed.

 

Hajime groans. “Oikawa, maybe we should-”

 

Oikawa literally presses a finger to Hajime’s lips and shushes him. Hajime would be boiling with rage, if he wasn’t so shocked. And confused. Why did Oikawa’s finger smell like cherry blossoms? He hadn’t seen the guy put on any lotion since this morning.

 

“It’s so good to meet Iwa-chan’s friends! I already knew of Suga-san, of course. You skated at Karasuno!”

 

Sugawara smiles. “And you skated at Seijou. I remember hearing about you often. It is a pleasure to put a face to the name.” Even in the face of Oikawa’s clingy, tipsy words, Sugawara seems genuinely pleased to meet the skater. Hajime can’t even _fathom_ the depths of the guy’s patience. Sawamura is just laughing into his cup—a cup full of water, if Hajime knows Sawamura at all. Sugawara is bereft of any sort of drink, though he does occasionally steal Sawamura’s cup from his grip.

 

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa murmurs, as if Sugawara and Sawamura aren’t literal inches away, “I’m going to get more punch. Try not to miss me!” The skater glides back towards the kitchen and, in turn, towards his admirers, who are all eager to see him.

 

“I didn’t know you two were friends,” Sawamura finally says, still chuckling.

 

“We’re not. Well, I guess we kind of are. I ran into him today—like ten minutes before you walked in.”

 

“He’s...something, isn’t he?” Sawamura grins.

 

“Oikawa wants to go the next Olympics,” Sugawara says simply, still watching the skater. “He’s got the best chance out of his team, I think. Now that I’m working part-time as a rink manager and team coordinator, I leave at like, ten o’clock. He’s still there when I leave, and he gets there before I do. I don’t really know how, but he has one of the spare keys.”

 

Hajime blinked. He’d sort of assumed that all that swagger just came with a natural talent, but now that Sugawara said it, he remembered reading something about Oikawa’s insane practice schedule, or maybe he’d just heard about it from Sugawara.

 

“Really?” Hajime furrows a brow. “ _That_ Oikawa stays late? I don’t buy it.”

 

Sugawara nods, but he seems almost concerned. “When Kageyama joined Karasuno, I was helping out as an assistant coach. Everyone started saying he was a shoe-in for the Olympics, and for the scholarship that Oikawa’s here on. At first, they said he was the next Oikawa, but then it was more like Oikawa was a precursor to Kageyama. Nobody heard from Oikawa for weeks after that—nobody knew about his schedules, and Seijou was tight-lipped as usual. He just...disappeared. At the next competition, Oikawa came the closest to a perfect score anyone’s come in two decades. He crushed _everyone_ , even Kageyama, but Kageyama was really close. Eight point difference.”

 

There was a long pause where Sugawara just looks at Hajime, his gaze piercing and kind all at the same time. “Kageyama didn’t practice all that much, too. He put in the same amount of time as the rest of us, but...he was just naturally gifted. Like he was born to the ice. Oikawa wasn’t born in it, not the same way, but he was born _for_ it.”

 

Hajime looks over at Oikawa, _really_ looks at the figure skater, clad in his multicolored alien hoodie and stretched like some lazy cat, all half-smiles and addictive words. In this moment, he didn’t look like anyone who needed to try too hard, but Hajime thinks back to the way he skated, skated like it was everything to him.

 

He’d seen Kageyama skate, twice—once, he’d come with Sawamura to one of the figure skating matches. For technique, Sawamura said, but it was probably just out of nostalgia, and because it reminded him of Suga. The second time had been by accident, when he was picking up new boots from the skating rink that the figure skating team used.

 

It had been a sight to see, for sure, but Kageyama always seemed to be possessed of an almost lackadaisical approach to skating. It was beautiful, but it came as naturally as breathing. With Oikawa, every stroke of genius was hard-earned, full of blood, sweat, tears, and hours of dedication. He’d known the skater for all of twelve hours and that much was painfully true—skating meant _everything_ to Oikawa. That fact was clear from the start, now that Hajime thought about it, but Sugawara’s words really cemented it.

 

“Earth to Iwaizumi,” Sawamura chimes, smacking him lightly in the head. “You might want to collect Oikawa before his admirers get him too drunk to walk.”

 

“I’m not his mom.” His words almost echo Oikawa’s at the bus stop, and he silently curses the gremlin for the seventieth time today.

 

“Suit yourself. Come play Mario Kart, then. I’ll crush you all over again.”

 

“Bring it on, _old man_.”

 

“Ohoho. You’re doing laps tomorrow, Iwaizumi.”

 

“Wait-”

 

“Nope! What’s done is done.”

 

Sugawara cackles. Hajime, despite himself, laughs too, following along beside Sawamura.

 

* * *

 

 

By the time the party’s winding down, it’s close to two a.m., and Hajime has been properly humiliated by Sawamura during Mario Kart.

 

“I should head back,” he mumbles, sleepy and weary.

 

“Yes, you should. You’ve got an early morning, sport!”

 

Hajime sits stick straight, slowly craning his neck towards Sawamura.

 

“The last time you called me sport-”

 

“That’s right, Iwaizumi. You’re cleaning the rink today.” Sawamura grins fiendishly, proffering Hajime a jingling set of keys. He swipes them from the man with a glare, one that serves only to send Sawamura into a laughing fit. Sugawara would laugh, too, but he’s passed out on the couch next to Sawamura, head leaned into his shoulder.

 

“Why? Why do you hate me, Sawamura?”

 

“I was gonna do it, but you lost _seven_ times, Iwaizumi. It’s not so bad. Maybe you can get Oikawa to help you!”

 

Oikawa is currently giggling at something inane, eyes bleary and hair messy. One of the aforementioned not-hockey-players is now oozing ever closer to Oikawa, and even though it’s just good-natured flirting, it annoys Hajime for some reason he can’t quite describe.

 

“Oh, yeah. Hangover gremlin is _definitely_ helping me clean the rink. It’s his fault that I have to do it.”

 

“How so?”

 

Hajime blanks. He had just expected to be able to blame Oikawa for all his problems from here on out.

 

“..Okay, so maybe it wasn’t his fault this one time, but like hell I’m letting him off the hook.”

 

* * *

 

 

When Hajime _finally_ wrestles Oikawa from his crowd of admirers and gets him to blearily stagger down the steps behind him, it’s closer to two thirty. Hajime silently thanks whoever built the building for keeping all the steps inside, because if Hajime had to face the cold night air on top of everything else, he’d scream.

 

At least he’s not going to have a hangover in the morning, Hajime thinks. Oikawa is, and that just makes it all so much sweeter.

 

* * *

 

Hajime could not have been more wrong. When he wakes up at four thirty, after a whole hour and a half of sleep, Oikawa is…

 

Already awake? And dressed? Today, he’s wearing a mint green shirt and black sweats, and he either wakes up with perfectly curled hair or he _already curled it_.

 

“What the hell are you doing awake already?”

 

Oikawa looks up from his coffee, which Hajime sees has had copious amounts of sugar poured into it, if the wayward sugar on the counter is any indication, and _smiles._ The absolute asshole.

 

“Iwa-chan! Good, you finally woke up!”

 

“Why are you so cheery? Why aren’t you hungover, like a normal human person?”

 

Oikawa takes a long sip of his coffee, never once breaking his stare with Hajime.

 

“I’m not human, Iwa-chan,” he says with such blandness that for a split-second, in his exhausted stupor, Hajime almost believes him.

 

“Just kidding! I don’t really get hangovers anymore. And besides, what’s not to be cheery about? I get to watch you clean for two hours!”

 

“You don’t get to watch me clean. You’re cleaning with me, jackass.”

 

Oikawa tilts his head to the side, looking every bit like a confused child.

 

“But Iwa-chan,” he begins, voice climbing into that annoying ass falsetto, “why would I do that? _I’m_ not the one who got humiliated playing Mario Kart, and I’m _definitely_ not a hockey player. And if I remember right, the hockey team is cleaning the rink for the next two weeks!”

 

Hajime wants to punch Oikawa, in that moment. He doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to punch anyone more in his entire pathetic life.

 

But he doesn’t, and that is quite possibly the most restraint Hajime has ever shown. If only Oikawa knew how benevolent he was.

 

“Fine. But you’re coming with me, asshat.”

 

“Of course, Iwa-chan! That’s what friends are for!”

 

It’s a cold morning, even in the dying throes of summer. A bit of wind nips at Hajime’s face, though he’s spared the worst of it by the oversized hockey hoodie.

 

Oikawa is not so lucky—actually, no, he’s just not that smart, Hajime amends. Dumbass.

 

A dumbass whose nose is now dusted with pretty shades of pink, cheeks red with the cold wind.

 

_God, now who’s the dumbass, dumbass?_

 

“Iwa-chan,” comes the singsong voice of Oikawa, “you look so lost in thought! I didn’t think you were smart enough to think that hard.”

 

“Fuck off.”

 

Oikawa cackles.

 

Hajime was going to offer Oikawa his sweatshirt—he runs hot, as a general rule—but now he’s content to watch Oikawa freeze. To death, if there was any mercy left in this world.

  


* * *

 

 

Of course, there isn’t. At least, not where Hajime is concerned. They arrive at the rink just on time—much to Oikawa’s delight as he sits on the bleachers and pulls out his phone.

 

“For Sawamura-san,” he chirps, shit-eating grin pulling at his lips. “Smile, Iwa-chan!”

 

Hajime flips off the camera and begins sweeping the floors, Oikawa’s laughter echoing in his ears—and not just because it’s annoying.

 

The cleaning is methodical, if nothing else. Hajime lets himself focus on that, on only that, and definitely _not_ Oikawa’s drunken hugs as they staggered down the stairs, or the way his voice wobbled delicately.

 

God, what was he _doing_? Oikawa was the most annoying person he’d ever met, and they’d known each other for…

 

He glanced at the clock. Twenty three hours. Honestly, he really didn’t know _what_ his mind was conjuring. Oikawa was pretty, yeah, but that was about it. Hajime had gone for that sort of person in high school, but he wasn’t going to go back to the guy he’d been just for some gremlin with a six hour skin care routine.

 

(Hajime actually has no idea what Oikawa’s skin care routine is, only that he absolutely must have one, because if Oikawa just naturally has that skin, Hajime might kill someone.)

 

No, he wouldn’t. Absolutely not. They could co-exist as friends, and Oikawa had yet to show he had any interest in Hajime beyond irritating him whenever he was bored.

 

Hajime settles into his cleaning routine, mind going blank. If Oikawa were able to listen to his thoughts—he was actually really glad he couldn’t—he’d probably make some snarky comment about how it was easy to make his brain go blank, since he didn’t _have_ a brain, and—

 

Oh god, he was thinking like Oikawa.

 

_Just shut up and clean,_ he chastises himself.

 

Maybe some higher power took pity on Hajime, because it finally works. The rhythmic sweep of the broom draws Hajime in, and he forgets everything except for the broom and the dirty floor beneath it.

 

By the time he finishes, the first of the early morning crowd has begun to file in. Oikawa has long since left the bleachers, and Hajime can tell from the sounds of skates on ice behind him that he’s already hard at work.

 

He hears Sugawara’s voice in his head as he looks over towards the skater, dancing on the ice with powerful strokes, spinning like some sort of ice-bound ballerina.

 

_Oikawa wants to go to the next Olympics._

 

“Lost in thought, Iwaizumi? I never thought I’d see the day.” Sawamura playfully elbows Hajime as he slides up next to him, eyes moving towards Hajime’s enraptured gaze.

 

“Picking up some new techniques, are you? Thinking about doing a spin during our next game?” Sawamura’s eyebrows waggle. Pale fingers thwack him in the head, and Hajime turns slightly to see Sugawara standing just beside the captain.

 

“I mean, some of figure skating can be translated to hockey, I bet.” Honestly, he’s just trying to cover his own ass, but Sawamura nods, and his eyes light up with an idea, but he elects not to expound on it.

 

“Maybe so. Get to the locker room and get changed. Practice starts in five.”

 

Hajime looks up at the clock and blinks. Six fifty-five, already? He hadn’t realized how enthralled he’d been by his cleaning.

 

He shuffles towards the locker room, shrugging off all his clothes as fast as he possibly can. It was only the second day of practice, and there was no way in hell he’d be late _already_.

 

The same line of thought, however, clearly did not plague Bokuto as he sprinted into the locker room, sports bag rocking up and down behind him and highly-caffeinated energy drink spilling everywhere. Kuroo entered mere seconds after, walking at a decidedly slower speed and sipping a coffee—no less caffeinated, to be sure, but definitely not the same shade of _literal orange_ that Bokuto’s was.

 

“Hey hey hey!” Bokuto grinned widely at Hajime, and he flashed a grin back, finding it difficult to be angry at the exuberant right winger for longer than a few seconds. His energy was infectious.

 

“Are you ready to crack some skulls?!” He slides up next to Hajime, arms draping around his shoulders. They have two minutes to be on the ice, or he’d have to do even _more_ laps.

 

“We’re not even scrimmaging, Bokuto,” Hajime adds, slowly extracting Bokuto’s arm from his shoulder. “It’s literally just training.”

 

“That’s not the right attitude! You always have to be ready to crack skulls.” Bokuto pops his knuckles, as if for effect. Kuroo chortles, nodding his assent.

 

“Always,” the cat-like goalie added. When he’d first seen Kuroo, during the preseason meetings, Hajime had been baffled that he was the goalie.

 

Until he’d seen him play, that is. Kuroo’s reflexes were stupid fast.

 

“I’ve got to get on the ice.” He pauses, and then grins. “So do you guys, or captain’s gonna make you do laps.”

 

“Pshhaw! Laps mean nothing!” Bokuto flexes, and Hajime laughs as he leaves.

 

“Iwaizumi! Quit slacking and get on the ice!” Was that Sawamura, or Ukai? They literally sound the same, sometimes.

 

He glances up and sees his captain grinning like a fiend, and there’s his answer.

 

Electing to restrain himself from flipping Sawamura off—they might be friends off the ice, but on the ice, Sawamura was his captain and superior—Iwaizumi glides out onto the ice, practice stick already in his fingertips.

 

They run through a few practice drills, bobbing in and out of cones and faking shots towards the goal. Towards the end of practice, Sawamura peels off, leaving Hajime to wonder idly at where, exactly, the captain could possibly be going.

 

It’s then that he catches the slightest hint of a minty green shirt, and Hajime curses in every known language. Six figure skaters glide onto the court—Hajime knows they’re figure skaters because there’s no _way_ hockey players move like that, and the gremlin is with them.

 

The aforementioned gremlin flashes a grin at Hajime, holding up two fingers in a victory sign. Hajime can see the skater’s lips part in a petulant cry of “Iwa-chan”, even while he tries to avoid him.

 

Sawamura skates up towards the group, breaking away from speaking Ushijima, the captain of the figure skating team, and perhaps the only one anywhere close to Oikawa’s level—maybe even his equal, if Hajime was being entirely unbiased.

 

“This morning, Iwaizumi gave me some good advice, even if he didn’t realize he was doing it. We’ve got an advantage a lot of other hockey teams don’t have—we share a rink with a figure skating team, some of whom are the highest ranked in the nation.”

 

Hajime had no idea what the actual ratings were, but if he had to guess, Oikawa was somewhere around the top three, and so was Ushijima.

 

“The six starters will be paired up with one of these six skaters, based on blending of personality. I’ll be with Ushijima. Bokuto, you’re with Kenma. Kuroo, Hanamaki. Tanaka, you’re with Akaashi, Nishinoya’s with Azahi, and that leaves us with…”

 

Sawamura offers Hajime a grin.

 

“Iwaizumi and Oikawa, you two will be the last partnership. You’ll be practicing moves with them on top of your regular practices. During the week, you’ll skip every other team practice to work with them, and on the weekends you’ll stay late.”

 

Oikawa beams at Hajime from across the rink, and Hajime resists the urge to skate across the rink and sock him in the face.

 

As if able to read his thoughts, Oikawa winks and wiggles his eyebrows, almost like he was saying _you’d have to catch me, first_.

 

Hajime is certain he could. The gremlin might be talented, and he might be elegant, but Hajime was fast, and his strides were ten times as powerful as whatever Oikawa would be pulling out.

 

Plus, he was full of rage. The kind of rage that makes you ten times stronger, or whatever. He was pretty sure that was a thing.

 

* * *

 

 

Once practice is over, the teams slip into their usual rhythm: chattiness for the next half hour while everyone unwinds, makes plans for the evening.

 

Hajime slips from the crowd, half expecting Oikawa to slide up next to him at any time, the brunette gremlin returning to terrorize him for the rest of the day once more.

 

But he doesn’t, and Hajime isn’t sure if that should be concerning or relieving, so he decides to check it out.

 

Hajime has already spent a whole five minutes of his life looking for Oikawa. The rink isn’t exactly huge, and there’s only two large skating rinks, and the two private ones in the back—

 

That’s it.

 

Hajime immediately heads towards the back, idly canting his gaze about the rink that has already begun to feel like home. It’s strange to think he’s only been practicing for two days—this weekend feels like it’s lasted a whole month.

 

It’s in the back rinks that Hajime finally finds the figure skater, brunette locks pinned back by a neon pink headband. Hajime was about to open his mouth to say something snarky, but then…

 

Oikawa skates just by him, passing mere inches from the boards, and doesn’t even spare him so much as a glance. His long, loping strides are unlike anything he’s ever seen, even having seen the skater train yesterday. There’s a desperation there, a thinly veiled bloodlust. Hajime can tell without looking at Oikawa’s face that the skater isn’t here—not really, anyways. His mind has become fixated on the ice before him, on the strength in his legs.

 

Hajime is...enraptured, to say the very least. Oikawa’s skates slice into the ice in a way Hajime can’t even describe, his attention focused solely on the skater. Suddenly, Oikawa is in the air, mint green streaking through the air as he made one, two, three revolutions, and suddenly he was back on the ice, slipping through it like water.

 

Oikawa wobbles, though, as he hits the ice, and for a moment it’s like he’s about to tumble, about to hit the ice and hit it _hard_.

 

But he recovers, as Hajime should have expected, and suddenly he’s spinning again. When Oikawa finishes, he’s shaking—legs like noodles.

 

A strange sound escapes Oikawa, and even though Hajime can’t see the other’s face, turned away as he is, he suddenly gets the feeling that Oikawa is crying, hands pressed to his throat. Pit forming in his stomach, Hajime realizes that he’s intruding on a very personal moment, and he slips out of the rink without another word.

 

* * *

 

 

Hajime stares at his phone on the bus ride back to the prestige building. For one reason or another, he just can’t wipe the image of Oikawa sobbing on that icy floor. He didn’t even understand why—the jump had been almost perfect, from what little he knew of figure skating. Yet something had completely _shattered_ in Oikawa the moment he wobbled, like he was deconstructing.

 

His fingertips curl. He types in a sequence of numbers, his phone clicks open, and in some dreary sort of haze, he keys in Oikawa’s name.

 

The phone rings, and rings, and rings. He gets Oikawa’s voice machine.

 

The message is pretentious, as was expected.

 

“Greetings! You’ve reached the voicemail of the _illustrious_ Oikawa Tooru. If you’re a friend, leave a voicemail. If you’re a stalker, leave one anyways! Byeee!”

 

There’s a beep, and Hajime pauses before speaking, biting his lip slightly.

 

“Hey Shittykawa,” he begins, staring out the window. “Kenma’s not gonna be home tonight, if you wanna watch one of your garbage alien documentaries. You left them all on my coffee table.” Hajime’s fingertips tap a steady tempo on his thigh, and he tries to keep the timbre of his voice smooth.

 

He clicks the phone off. His lips sting with words unsaid.

 

_Are you alright? You don’t have to perfect, you know._

 

The tapping increases, and Hajime remembers Sugawara’s words once more.

 

_“Nobody heard from Oikawa for weeks after that—nobody knew about his schedules, and Seijou was tight-lipped as usual. He just...disappeared.”_

 

What was Oikawa hiding behind those pretty smiles and sparkling eyes?

 

_“Eight point difference.”_

 

Hajime had known Oikawa for less than three days, but already he was starting to realize that there was more to Oikawa Tooru than the precocious gremlin he appeared to be. A ghost in the flesh, a terrible loneliness lurking beneath that smooth skin.

 

Staring out the window, Hajime’s tapping becomes a distant sound. As the bus pulls up beside the Prestige Building, he clenches his fist. Maybe Sugawara could talk to Oikawa. It wasn’t like Hajime was all that close with Oikawa—

 

Was _anyone_ close with Oikawa? He smiled pretty for everyone to see, and Hajime didn’t think anyone would really say they disliked Oikawa, unless they were jealous, but he’d never heard Oikawa mention anyone he was really close with.

 

_“Why the long face, Iwa-chan? We’ll be best friends forever now!”_

 

He got up from his seat, silently picking his way towards the front of the bus. The doors slid open, and he took a step into the pleasant September air, the sun beginning to slip below the mountaintops like the last departing kiss of a lover.

 

_Call me back, Asskawa._

 

_Please._

 

* * *

 

 

It’s almost ten o’clock when Oikawa finally calls him back. Hajime is lounging on his couch, scribbling down some final answers to his kinesiology homework. It should be interesting—it _is_ interesting—but Hajime can’t forget what he saw in the rink.

 

When the phone rings, Hajime nearly jumps, the noise disrupting the steady stream of orchestral music that had been slipping through his earbuds. In one fluid motion, he snatches the phone off the coffee table and answers it.

 

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa’s voice is bright and airy, and Hajime can already see the shit-eating grin on the other end of the phone.

 

“Trashkawa,” he responds blandly, smirking. “How nice of you to finally call me back...four hours later.”

 

“There’s a very good reason, actually. I wanted to go try this new ramen place, but my _phone_ died, and I was there for like, two and a half hours after I helped...clean the rink.”

 

The lie is so obvious, Hajime’s almost shocked. Oikawa always seemed steady in all his words, even the lies, so this is strange.

 

“You cleaned the rink? Now we’re just getting preposterous, Shittykawa.”

 

“Ugh. You’re so mean, Iwa-chan. I don’t know how you store all that nastiness in such a tiny brain!”

 

“Were you calling for any specific reason, or just to make my life a living hell? I actually have homework, you know.”

 

“You called me first, Iwa-chan,” he chirps. “Also, I’m outside your apartment.” There’s a light knocking, and Hajime’s eye twitches.

 

He hangs up the phone and comes to a standing position, slowly making his way towards the door.

 

When he opens it, scowl on his face, Oikawa is standing there, still in his clothes from practice. His eyes sparkle in the night air, pools of amber glittering like huge black holes, and he’s got a headphone shoved into one ear.

 

A box of pizza is balanced haphazardly on one of his hands, the other holding a phone adeptly. “I brought pizza! Iwa-chan sounded so lonely, I figured I’d be a good friend and bring _two_ gifts!”

 

“What was the first?”

 

“My presence, silly!” Oikawa shoves the box of pizza into Hajime’s hands and breezes into the apartment, shrugging off his sports bag. The tip of one of his skates twinkles in the harsh lighting of the dormitory as he sets the bag down, turning to grin at Hajime.

 

“Anyways, I decided on a movie to watch while we eat this pizza. I also took the liberty of getting everyone’s favorite flavor!”

 

“And what flavor is that?”

 

Hajime braces himself for some weird shit like cotton candy pizza, or something nauseatingly sweet.

 

“Cheese, duh.” Hajime _blinks_.

 

“You, Oikawa Tooru, eat _cheese_ pizza? That’s it?”

 

Oikawa frowns, eyebrows knitting together. “..Yes? Iwa-chan, I know you’re not too smart, but _really_ , why are you so shocked?”

 

“It’s like, literally the blandest flavor.”

 

The skater gasps. Literally _gasps_ , like Hajime just shot him.

 

“Iwa-chan! Take that back! Cheese pizza is the single constant in a man’s life.”

 

“You’re nineteen. I don’t think you can talk about life—let alone a man’s life.”

 

“I’m an old soul, Iwa-chan.” He pinches one of Hajime’s cheeks, and Hajime would slap the hand away, if only he didn’t have the pizza box.

 

Oikawa saunters towards the couch, pouting. “Why are there so many papers?”

 

“I’m doing homework, dumbass.”

 

“Iwa-chan is going to fail anyways,” Oikawa observes, nodding sagely. “So it doesn’t matter!” He lifts the pile of Hajime’s papers and deposits them on one of the chairs, draping himself onto the couch theatrically.

 

“Fuck you.”

 

“Iwa-chan, do we need to install a swear jar? I swear, two days in and I’m already having to curtail your horrible mouth.” Oikawa sighs. “You’re so lucky I’m your new skating mentor, Iwa-chan. Can you imagine if you had anyone else? Like...Bastardwaka?”

 

“You’re not my _mentor_ , dumbass. You guys are passing on tips and tricks to make us better skaters. You’re not teaching me how to skate.”

 

“Of course not! If I was teaching you how to skate, I’d be your skating _teacher_. Now who’s the dumbass?” Oikawa grins triumphantly, and then beckons for Hajime to come to the couch.

 

“Get over here, Iwa-chan. I want pizza.”

 

“Don’t you have a competition coming up?” Something stormy passes through Oikawa’s eyes as Hajime speaks, and for a second he wonders if maybe he misspoke, but it’s gone in a second, replaced with a theatrical eye roll.

 

“I have a week and a half! I only diet the week before. Give me the pizza!”

 

Hajime sighs. He’s like a five year old, only taller.

 

Begrudgingly, he hands over the pizza to Oikawa, who has now sprawled across the length of the sofa, spindly legs spread out like some noble lounging upon a throne, if the throne was a fifty dollar couch from IKEA that he got on sale and his noble regalia was a sweaty shirt and some sweats.

 

“Are you excited for your competition, though?” Hajime looks over at Oikawa as the skater snatches a slice of pizza and promptly shoves it into his mouth.

 

Oikawa just...stares at Hajime for a long moment while he chews, eyes owlish and inquisitive.

 

“Yes,” he finally says, swallowing. “I’ve been practicing for months.”

 

_I saw you practicing,_ he wants to say. _Are you okay?_

 

Instead he lets the words hang between them for a long moment, not bringing himself to meet Oikawa’s gaze. The brunette was sitting up straight now, legs curled under his body.

 

“Do you have a laptop?” The question catches Hajime off guard, and he’s not sure if Oikawa is just deflecting or genuinely curious.

 

“Yeah, but if you’re gonna borrow it, don’t go download some shitty porn, Trashkawa.”

 

Oikawa sputters. “Iwa-chan! I would never. I’m too pretty to watch porn. I guess you wouldn’t know.” The skater pouts, sticking out a lower lip.

 

“At least I’m not ugly on the inside, Shittykawa.”

 

A sock hits Hajime in the face. “Iwa-chan! You’re not pretty on either side!”

 

“Do you want the laptop or not, dumbass?”

 

Oikawa sighs. “Iwa-chan is so mean to me. I want the laptop,” he whines, voice climbing into the high octave that never fails to make Hajime want to sock Oikawa in the face.

 

Hajime reaches into his backpack, strewn haphazardly next to the chair he’s sitting in, and pulls out the laptop, offering it to Oikawa wordlessly.

 

The brunette takes the laptop, sticking his tongue out, and reaches into the pocket of his sports bag to pull out a pair of glasses.

 

Hajime blinks. “Four-eyes.”

 

“Iwa-chan is just jealous that I look pretty in glasses.”

 

“No, it’s just funny that you’re not just an asshole, you’re a _blind_ asshole.”

 

Oikawa narrows his eyes, smirk playing at his lips. “And how do you know these aren’t fake?”

 

Hajime pauses at that, quirking a brow. “Are they?”

 

“Maybe,” Oikawa chimes, opening the laptop. Hajime slides off of the chair and comes to sit next to Oikawa, watching as he creates an entirely new account—on _his_ laptop. Not only did the gremlin have no concept of personal space, he also had absolutely no boundaries.

 

“Baekawa? That’s like, so outdated, Shittykawa. It’s a new low, even for you.”

 

Oikawa sticks his tongue out again. “I can’t believe you even know what pop culture is, Iwa-chan. Your sense of style made me think you were like some out of touch old person.” He stares at Hajime, before adding, “A colorblind old person.”

 

“You have a garbage personality, Shittykawa.”

 

“I take it back. Colorblind people would still have better color coordination than you do, Iwa-chan.”

 

“Trashykawa.”

 

Oikawa pouts. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

 

“It’s faster than Trashy Oikawa.”

 

“That hurts, Iwa-chan!”

 

“The truth can often have that effect on people, yes.”

 

“Hmph.” Oikawa returns to typing, fingers flying at the keys.

 

“What are you even doing?”

 

“Iwa-chan is so nosy.”

 

“Answer me, dumbass.”

 

Oikawa answers by way of opening Google and typing in keywords.

 

_Kageyama Tobio figure skating_

 

Hajime tenses. The conversation with Sugawara at Sawamura’s comes racing back to him.

 

_“It was more like Oikawa was a precursor to Kageyama.”_

 

Oikawa starts obsessively clicking, opening six tabs of news articles.

 

“Hey, dumbass, why are you googling some junior high schooler?”

 

The brunette doesn’t answer for a moment.

 

“He’s my old friend, Iwa-chan! I’m just checking up on him.”

 

“And you can’t text him?”

 

“Texts are always full of lies. The news is reliable.”

 

The lie is obvious, but Hajime decides to drop it, but not before making sure Oikawa does too. Hajime can’t handle Oikawa having a breakdown on his watch.

 

“You can stalk your old friend later, dumbass. If you want to watch a movie, you better pick it now, or I’m going to sleep.”

 

Oikawa perks up, half-shutting the laptop. Victory is Hajime’s, at least for now.

 

“I already picked one, Iwa-chan! I just didn’t tell you.” He shoves the laptop into Hajime’s grip, and he quickly powers it off and hides it under the coffee table. Oikawa is already putting a disc inside Kenma’s game console.

 

He returns to the couch, folding his legs underneath him. Words crawl across the screen in hazy green font.

 

**THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE: A STORY OF REAL ALIEN ENCOUNTERS**

 

“Oh my god, Shittykawa. This is from like, the 80s.”

 

Oikawa presses a finger to Hajime’s lips and shushes him. “Silence, Iwa-chan. Perfection is timeless.”

 

The movie continues for a good half hour before Hajime begins to nod off, disappearing into silence, eyes fluttering closed. Oikawa watches the show with rapt attention, and slowly, Hajime descends into the arms of sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Hajime wakes up in the middle of the night—which should have already been a warning sign, since he’d slept through the night since junior high—to the sound of footsteps in the kitchen. He sits up whip straight, canting his gaze around for—

 

Oikawa. He’s not at the couch, and Hajime realizes with sickening dread that the laptop he’d stashed under the coffee table is gone, too. Hajime tiptoes into the kitchen, and Oikawa’s sleep-deprived face comes into full view, lit by the bright fluorescence of the computer screen.

 

There’s a half-eaten slice of pizza next to him, and an untouched water bottle. He’s furiously typing something onto his phone as he watches the screen, brunette locks falling into his eyes, ragged with a lack of sleep even despite the glasses on his face.

 

Hajime doesn’t know what to say, standing there staring at Oikawa as he obsesses over...what? Kageyama? The kid wasn’t even at university, yet. He should be more worried about Ushijima taking his spot.

 

And then Hajime remembers _Bastardwaka_ ’s name being murmured whenever Ushijima was brought up, remembers the cold storm that passed over Oikawa’s gaze when Hajime had asked about the competition.

 

Both headphones were in his ears, and Hajime could hear applause blasting through them. Oikawa’s hands are shaking.

 

Hajime pauses, staring at Oikawa. All he can see in his mind’s eye is Oikawa, hunched over on the ice, tears rolling from his cheeks like hot steam.

 

“Trashykawa,” Hajime begins, and Oikawa jumps, immediately shutting the laptop.

 

“Why the hell are you awake?”

 

Oikawa blinks at the question, smoothly hiding the laptop, as if Hajime hadn’t just seen it. “I woke up five minutes ago,” the brunette lies, smiling at Hajime. “I just needed some water, Iwa-chan!”

 

“I saw the laptop, dumbass.”

 

Oikawa tilts his head to the side. “What laptop?”

 

Hajime levels a glare with the fury of a thousand suns at Oikawa. “The laptop, Shittykawa. The one on your thigh.”

 

Oikawa smiles, and Hajime sees his arm make some minute motion under the counter. “There’s no laptop there, Iwa-chan! Go back to sleep.”

 

Hajime glares even harder and turns the counter, staring directly at Oikawa as he does so. Red climbs up Oikawa’s neck, and he jolts to his feet.

 

“Okay, fine, sorry! I had a last minute project for class tomorrow.” Oikawa offers the laptop. “Iwa-chan, can you ever forgive me?” The brunette pouts, and Hajime wordlessly swipes the laptop from his hand.

 

“Go to bed, Shittykawa.”

 

“Iwa-chaaaan. Forgive me, or I won’t be able to sleep!”

 

Hajime stares at Oikawa. The words are meant to be a joke, but there’s something in the way Oikawa grips the counter as he says it.

 

“Fine,” he groans, “I forgive you. Go to sleep.”

 

Oikawa gives a mock salute, grinning and receding back towards the couch. Once he’s out of view, Hajime sets the laptop down on the counter.

 

He knows he shouldn’t look, knows that he should let Oikawa’s ghosts linger in the realm where they belong. They’d known each for...what, two days?

 

Yet Hajime’s fingers seem almost to move as though possessed, twitching along the top of the computer. Feeling like a criminal in his own home, Hajime opens the computer and allows the screen to flood with light.

 

There are...way too many tabs for Hajime to make any of them out clearly, so he clicks on one of them at random.

 

As he clicks it, a video begins immediately. A tall, slender skater glides across the ice, and for a moment Hajime thinks it might be Oikawa, until he sees the severe black bob that this skater sports.

 

Effortlessly, the mystery skater glides across the screen, skates leaving the ice in a rapid motion. One, two, three, four times does he spin, a swirling mass of muscle moving across the screen, tight black suit conformed to his body, crystals glittering in the light of the arena.

 

Hajime is enraptured, eyes never once leaving the screen, and the skater leaps into another jump and-

 

“He’s good, isn’t he?” Hajime jumps at the sound of Oikawa’s voice, and he turns to see the brunette standing there, gangly and weary.

 

“Eh. He’s alright, yeah.”

 

Oikawa laughs, but it’s an ugly, bitter thing. “Don’t lie, Iwa-chan. It’s unbecoming. That’s Kageyama, my darling underclassman.” The phantasmagoric smile that crosses Oikawa’s face is nothing short of terrifying. “I plan to crush him personally at the competition next week.”

 

“But he’s still in high school.” Hajime tilts his head to the side.

 

“It’s not a school-based competition. It’s the preliminaries for the sectional championship.” Oikawa takes in a breath, sucking in. He balances on his toes for a moment. “I went when I was his age as well, of course. I placed fifth.”

 

Hajime recalls a few things about skating championships, but the one that stands out in this moment is that only the top four finishers move on.

 

_Oikawa, sobbing into his hands, surrounded by a sheen of ice._

 

Oikawa smiles bitterly, and it’s in that moment that Hajime realizes that there exists two versions of Oikawa: in one, he is a perfect star, charming and suave, passionate but never angry, generous to his fans and playful with his teammates.

 

In the other, he is...this. Something raw, something bitter, and Oikawa’s grip as his babied voice told Hajime they’d be _best friends forever_ is all Hajime can remember. There’s a desperation in his big brown eyes, Hajime thinks, as he stares at his feet.

 

“I’ll be competing against Kageyama, of course. And Bastardwaka, and all the other figure skaters in the region. I won’t be placing fifth. Not this time.”

 

Hajime blinks. Oikawa isn’t doubtful as he says it: he’s forceful and self-assured, even in this precarious state of self-preservation, dangling his willowy limbs off the metaphorical cliff, unaware of the perils he dances with.

 

“You’ll have to be well-rested to do that, Trashykawa. Go to bed.”

 

A sad, tired smile parts Oikawa’s features, and Hajime realizes with a dim sort of grief that it might be the first genuine smile he’s seen the brunette smile.

 

Hajime shuts the laptop and begins to blearily drift off into sleep on the kitchen counter, too tired to walk all the way to his bed.

 

That night, he dreams of a faceless figure skater falling into an endless chasm.

 

* * *

 

 

Hajime wakes three hours later to a harsh poke in the side, Oikawa looming over him like the oversized gremlin he is.

 

“Five more minutes,” he grumbles, waving a hand.

 

“Iwa-chan is going to miss morning classes if he sleeps too late!” Oikawa chirps, poking him again.

 

“What time is it?” Concern begins to bleed through his half-asleep daze, forcing him fully awake. An icy pit of dread forms in his stomach.

 

“Six a.m.,” the brunette chimes helpfully, moving towards his fridge.

 

“I don’t have classes until ten!” Hajime unfurls, angry, and stares daggers at Oikawa, who has already buried his head in the fridge. When the skater pops back out, he has an apple in his hand, taking a bite of it.

 

“Iwa-chan needs to stock up on foods! What would happen if there was a flood?”

 

“I’d eat you first.”

 

“Iwa-chan would have to catch me first!”

 

Hajime scowls. “You didn’t answer me. I don’t have classes until _ten_ , so why am I awake at _six_?”

 

Oikawa tilts his head to the side, as if the question baffles him in its stupidity. Hajime’s eye twitches.

 

“Because I have classes at seven, Iwa-chan!”

 

Contemplating if murder is a worthwhile avenue to pursue, Hajime just stares at Oikawa.

 

“So you woke me up _three hours early_ because _you_ have class at seven, _after_ making me get up at three o’clock in the morning.”

 

Oikawa pouts. “You woke up all by yourself last night!”

 

“That was three hours ago.”

 

“It was still last night.”

 

“That’s—beside the point. I still don’t understand why you decided to wake _me_ up, dumbass.”

 

“Oh! Right. I woke you up to tell you that I’m going to raid your closet, Iwa-chan! You have abysmal sense of fashion, but I don’t want to wear my sweaty practice clothes to class.”

 

“Why can’t you just go to your own apartment?”

 

Oikawa sticks his tongue out. “I don’t want to. Kenma and Kuroo are probably still there, and I don’t want them being all gross next to me while I’m trying to be studious.”

 

“You’re the least studious person I’ve ever met,” Hajime says, and they both try not to remember last night, try not to remember Oikawa’s obsessive clicking, or the way he’d smiled like some great thing was ending.

 

“Iwa-chan! You’re so _mean_!”

 

Hajime sighs, throwing his hands up in defeat. “You can grab clothes, but you have to bring them back.”

 

Oikawa claps his hands together and walks off, as though Hajime saying no would have stopped him.

 

“But you have to _return_ them, Trashykawa.”

 

“Of _course_ I’ll return them, Iwa-chan!”

 

Hajime sighs.

 

“Yeah, sure,” he mumbles, reaching for a cup and starting his coffee machine.

 

When Oikawa dashes out of the door at six fifty-five, Hajime feels strange. It’s the first time they’ve been actually separated from each other for three days, and in any other situation, Hajime would feel unending relief.

 

Now, he just feels...strange. That’s the word for it. Nothing too out of the ordinary, but just enough to feel a bit on edge, a tad bit like something was missing that’d been there only seconds later.

 

Chalking it up to Oikawa’s weird neuroses rubbing off on him, Hajime takes a long sip of his coffee and settles in to finish all the homework he’d procrastinated in favor of watching Oikawa’s shitty alien movie.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s still in class when Oikawa texts him.

 

[02:45 PM]trashykawa: iwa-chaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan

[02:46 PM]trashykawa: iwa-chaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan

[02:46 PM]trashykawa: iwa-chan i KNOW you can see this

[02:47 PM]trashykawa: no class could be more interesting than ME iwa-chan

[02:48 PM]Iwaizumi Hajime: What

[02:48 PM]trashykawa: let’s get lunch

[02:48 PM]trashykawa: i want ramen

[02:49 PM]Iwaizumi Hajime: I’m in class

[02:49 PM]trashykawa: and what about it

[02:50 PM]Iwaizumi Hajime: And I actually care about my studies

[02:50 PM]trashykawa: ew

[02:50 PM]trashykawa: what time does ur stupid class END

[02:51 PM]Iwaizumi Hajime: In like ten minutes

[02:51 PM]trashykawa: just leave!

[02:52 PM]Iwaizumi Hajime: Absolutely not

[02:53 PM]trashykawa: i want ramen!!!!!

[02:54 PM]Iwaizumi Hajime: So get ramen

[02:54 PM]trashykawa: i don’t want to go ALONE

[02:54 PM]trashykawa: ugh fine i’ll just meet u outside ur class and we’ll get ramen before practice!

 

Practice. He’d forgotten that he was now subject to the horrors of having to train with Oikawa.

 

[02:55 PM]Iwaizumi Hajime: Fine

[02:55 PM]Iwaizumi Hajime: I can’t believe I have to put up with you for six weeks

[02:56 PM]trashykawa: who else would u have iwa-chan?

[02:56 PM]trashykawa: bastardwaka? i didnt think so!!!!

[02:57 PM]Iwaizumi Hajime: Suga could teach me

[02:57 PM]trashykawa: refreshing-kun is NOTHING compared to my skills

[02:57 PM]trashykawa: i’m the gandhi of figure skating

[02:58 PM]Iwaizumi Hajime: That doesn’t work

[02:58 PM]Iwaizumi Hajime: At all

[02:58 PM]trashykawa: why not

[02:58 PM]Iwaizumi Hajime: Because Gandhi was a peaceful protester of inequality

[02:58 PM]Iwaizumi Hajime: You’re just a pompous skater

[02:59 PM]trashykawa: JUST a pompous skater?

[02:59 PM]trashykawa: you forgot beautiful, talented, hilarious, multi-faceted

[02:59 PM]trashykawa: and also outside your class

[03:00 PM]Iwaizumi Hajime: No I said exactly what I said

[03:00 PM]Iwaizumi Hajime: And I meant what I said

[03:00 PM]trashykawa: iwa-chan is so MEAN!

 

Hajime barely makes it out of class before he hears... _it_.

 

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa’s voice cuts through the relative silence of the hallway outside the class, and at least four of his classmates look at him funny—before doing a slight double take as Oikawa beelines towards Hajime.

 

He’d forgotten that Oikawa was something of a campus celebrity. One of the more talented figure skaters at the school—maybe the most, along with Ushijima—Oikawa’s charm and looks had made him extremely popular at the school, just like he probably had been back at Seijou.

 

“Iwa-chan! We have an hour and a half before practice, so we need to walk fast! I know you have tiny little legs, but I can’t carry you, because you’re so _heavy_ , so you’ll just need to keep up.” Oikawa nods sagely, motioning for Hajime to follow. The brunette speeds off again. He’s wearing one of Hajime’s old hoodies—a Karasuno hoodie, ironically enough, but the emblem is small enough that Oikawa probably didn’t even notice—and a pair of tan shorts that Hajime hadn’t seen in weeks, which meant Oikawa had dug _deep_ to find an outfit he deemed sufficient.

 

The black hoodie was oversized on Oikawa, mostly because they’d given Hajime the wrong size, but he somehow still managed to look nice in it. Completely not fair.

 

_Why do you_ care _what he looks like, Hajime? This is Trashykawa._

 

Hajime shakes his head slightly as Oikawa’s voice slides into his reverie, pulling him harshly from his thoughts.

 

“It’s just this way! Come _on,_ Iwa-chan! You can’t blame all this slowness on being short, you know. I hope this isn’t how you skate, or we’ll have so much work to do!”

 

Oikawa’s already seen Hajime skate, he’s pretty sure, so this is all just to get a rise out of Hajime.

 

It works.

 

“I’ll pummel you on the ice, Shittykawa.”

 

Oikawa turns to grin at Hajime, his freakish pace never slowing.

 

“Iwa-chan, how could you ever pummel me if you couldn’t catch me? Silly Iwa-chan. Try not to think too hard, okay? I don’t want you to get hurt!”

 

Oikawa speeds up, as if that were possible, and a cackle leaves his lips. Hajime is accelerated forward by some ungodly vitriol, and he seizes the hood of Oikawa—of _his_ —hoodie, yanking the brunette back _hard_.

 

“Ow! Iwa-chan! I’m sorry! I won’t do it again!” Oikawa flails around, eventually pulling free from Hajime. The skater stares at him with a pout, brown eyes bubbling with fake sadness.

 

“Iwa-chan is so _violent_. Maybe we should see a counselor!”

 

“I would literally rather die, Shittykawa. Where is this ramen place?”

 

Oikawa gestures behind him. Hajime is...surprised, to say the least. It’s a tiny little hole in the wall restaurant—decidedly _not_ Oikawa’s style—with a half-dead neon sign, still lit up even in the bright afternoon sun.

 

“Right here, Iwa-chan! I know you’re not very smart, but _honestly_. It’s right before your eyes!” He grabs Hajime’s hand and pulls him towards the door.

 

The second he walks in, the hostess beams at him.

 

“Oikawa-san!” the hostess greets, waving brightly. Oikawa returns it with a winning smile and a wink, along with a long look that he doesn’t quite understand.

 

“Miyoki-san! So good to see you!” Oikawa steps up to the stand and smiles again, softer this time. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s enough to make Miyoki blush slightly.

 

Hajime sighs inwardly.

 

“Do you have last-minute space? Iwa-chan and I have practice in an hour, but he’s been dying to try the ramen here for _days_ . All because of _my_ recommendation, I might add.”

 

Confusion crosses Miyoki’s face, but he doesn’t have time to register it before Oikawa is turning back towards Hajime and winks, offering a look that he can’t quite read but that he assumes means _go along with it_.

 

Miyoki bites her lip. “We’re supposed to keep the tables left empty in case one of our sponsors pops by, but I’m sure they won’t miss _one_ table.”

 

“Are you sure? I don’t want to get you in trouble, Miyoki-san,” Oikawa says, sounding almost genuine.

 

“It’s fine, I promise. Follow me.” She motions for the two boys to follow her, plucking two menus from the stand.

 

Miyoki leads them to a small table right beside the window, smiling and saying that someone will be right over to get their drink orders, and that she hopes they have a wonderful time. Oikawa smiles and offers her a crumpled bill, which she takes with a deep bow.

 

“Are you two friends?” Hajime questions, looking up from the menu as he speaks.

 

Oikawa’s menu is already discarded on the table, and he cups his chin in his hands as he looks at Hajime.

 

“Aw, is Iwa-chan jealous? We’re still best friends, don’t worry!” He laughs, before continuing.

 

“But no, not completely! She’s the hostess that usually works the weekday afternoon shifts. I like to come here after class. It’s a good spot to get away from my _adoring_ fans, whom I love, but sometimes it’s nice to just be by myself!” Oikawa pauses, before grinning.

 

“Or with company, even if that company is an uncivilized brute like Iwa-chan.”

 

“You’re lucky we’re in public, Shittykawa.”

 

“Iwa-chan is so cute when he threatens me! Should I pretend to be scared?” Oikawa giggles, looking towards the waitress who was now approaching their table. She smiles at Oikawa, faint rose touching her cheeks, and he returns the favor.

 

“Can I get you two anything to drink?” She tilts her head to the side, smile still on her lips. Hajime’s sure not all of it is her customer service smile, not if the way she steals glances at Oikawa is anything to go off of.

 

“I’ll have a water,” Hajime says with a slight nod. Oikawa sighs, exasperated.

 

“Iwa-chan is so boring, I know. But I’ll be boring with him, this one time! I will _also_ have a water.”

 

The waitress nods, quickly scribbling it down on her notepad.

 

“I’ll be right back with your drinks, and then I’ll get your orders!” She scurries off.

 

“Another friend of yours?” Hajime tilts his head to the side, smirking at Oikawa and ignoring the strange pit in his stomach.

 

Oikawa laughs. It’s a genuine one, for once, with no pretenses or gains to be had.

 

Oikawa laughs, and Hajime feels the pit grow a little bit.

 

“Is Iwa-chan jealous?” Oikawa teases, tilting his head to the side. “But no, I don’t know her. She’s just doing her _job_ , Iwa-chan!”

 

Hajime’s about to say that he doesn’t think her job involves blushing at the customers, until she’s suddenly right next to him, handing him a glass of water. She pauses for a single second as she gives Oikawa’s, allowing his fingertips to graze hers.

 

He almost laughs, but he doesn’t, and Hajime applauds his own self-restraint. Clearly, Oikawa’s not rubbing off on him as much as he might have thought.

 

“Have you two decided on what you’d like to eat?”

 

“Miso ramen,” Oikawa offers with a smile, handing the waitress his menu and taking a sip of his water. “No pork or eggs!”

 

Hajime was actually about to order the same thing, but he decides that might look a little strange, so he instead asks for shio ramen, offering the waitress his menu as well.

 

She scribbles it down, taking the menus, and walks off with an assurance that their food will be out “in just a bit!” and a smile.

 

“So, what’s on the lesson plan today, Shittykawa?”

 

“You’ll have to do laps if you keep being mean, Iwa-chan!”

 

“Laps don’t scare me, Trashykawa.”

Oikawa huffs, and Hajime is correct in assuming it was a bluff. “Nothing exciting,” he acquiesces over his glass, “but it’ll be fun! Mostly just footwork today, and getting you used to skating in different skates.”

 

“I’ve skated in figure skates plenty of times before, you know. Karasuno had a weekly figure skating class for the hockey players. It helps with balance.”

 

“That’s so cute! Iwa-chan thinks a weekly class is enough to get out of basic practice.” Oikawa clicks his tongue. “You’ll be doing basics for awhile, Iwa-chan! Don’t worry. By the time I’m finished with you, you’ll be doing double toe loops. You will crush Bastardwaka and Sawamura-kun.”

 

Hajime blinks. “It’s not even a competition, Shittykawa.”

 

“Everything is a competition, Iwa-chan, and we’re going to win! And we’ll look the best doing it, of course.”

 

Hajime is unconvinced that they’ll “win” anything: Oikawa is talented, but Sawamura figure skates with Sugawara pretty regularly to work on balance. Then again, the glimmer in Oikawa’s eyes right now is enough to make him worried for Sawamura’s life if he “wins”.

 

He’s beginning to realize a few things about Oikawa, too. The brunette is unhealthily obsessed with winning—at first he thought it was a mild character quirk, or maybe just part of the persona he projected, but he’d looked close to sadistic when detailing how they’d “crush” Ushijima—and that along with this obsession is the inability to process failure.

 

Before Hajime can think too hard about this, the waitress is sliding his ramen bowl at him, and Oikawa is smiling at her and thanking her for the delicious meal, and that of _course_ Iwa-chan would say his thanks too, but he’s too busy zoning out and being _rude_ —

 

“Oh.” He looks up, smiling awkwardly at the waitress. “Thanks.”

 

She blinks, but nods, bowing her head. “Of course! If you need anything else, just holler!” The waitress smiles, and then disappears into the other areas of the restaurant. It’d begun to fill up with the lunch crowd, and Hajime silently wonders whether Oikawa practices witchcraft, because there’s _no_ way he schemed his way into this table with such short notice.

 

“Iwa-chan is so rude,” Oikawa chimes, flicking water at him.

 

“Hey!” Hajime reaches across the table to flick him in the head, and Oikawa _yelps_ . Literally fucking _yelps_ , like some wounded animal.

 

“Iwa-chan! That hurt!”

 

“I barely even touched you, dumbass.”

 

“It was the idea of the action that hurt more than the action itself, Iwa-chan.”

 

“That doesn’t even make any sense.”

 

“Stop being mean!” Oikawa kicks Hajime under the table, giggling like the demon that he is, and Hajime silently takes in a deep breath.

 

He decides not to murder Oikawa in plain daylight, and instead digs into the ramen.

 

Begrudgingly, Hajime realizes that Oikawa was right. This ramen is the best thing he’s ever had, and he’s pretty sure he’s had some good ramen before. This doesn’t compare to literally anything else he’s had—it’s like his tastebuds have died and transcended to some higher plane of existence that his brain literally cannot comprehend.

 

“Iwa-chan? Did you...did you die over there? I mean, I know it’s good, but-”

 

“I’m fine, dumbass.”

 

“Iwa-chan! I was expressing interest in your well-being!”

 

“That’s new. Shittykawa, caring about a human being?”

 

“That’s very rude, Iwa-chan! I care about lots of human beings. I care about Bastardwaka, for example.”

 

“You care about destroying him.”

 

“It’s the same thing,” Oikawa says, swiping a hand through the air dismissively.

 

“No, Shittykawa. It’s really not.”

 

“Anyways,” Oikawa begins, in that same tone that he always seems to get when he chooses to steer the conversation away from an undesirable path, “admit that you like the ramen.”

 

Hajime stares at Oikawa. “I like the ramen.”

 

“Now, say ‘Oikawa, you’re so smart. I wish I hadn’t been so mean to you, and had instead recognized how awesome and smart you are’.”

 

“Oikawa,” Hajime starts, and the brunette in question stares in amazement, as if marvelling that his plan had actually worked. “You’re so stupid. I wish I had been meaner to you, and will continue to remind you that you’re stupid.”

 

Oikawa just sighs, admitting defeat.

 

“So.” Oikawa stirs his bowl as Hajime speaks, not looking up yet. Hajime sucks in a slight breath.

 

“Are you gonna explain what you were doing last night?”

 

Oikawa’s hand stops moving, fingers curling tightly around the spoon. His knuckles go white, before he’s suddenly loosening his grip, looking up at Hajime with a smile. The facade almost works, catching Hajime off guard.

 

Almost.

 

“Iwa-chan,” he begins, “it was really nothing! You’re such a mom. I was just having some bad insomnia, so I was watching some old figure skating videos to clear my head. It helps, you know. I bet you watch hockey when you can’t sleep.”

 

He’s right, actually, but Hajime doesn’t watch his rival and obsession when he can’t sleep. But Hajime can’t exactly say that, because then Oikawa knows how much _he_ knows.

 

So he acquiesces.

 

“Hm. Fine, Shittykawa. At least try to get sleep tonight, though.”

 

“Of course, Iwa-chan! Kenma will be out tonight, so I have the apartment to myself.” The brunette smiles, taking a spoonful of ramen.

 

Hajime doesn’t know why it’s so strange that Oikawa will be sleeping in his own apartment—both nights had been because Kenma had asked if he could possibly have the apartment so Kenma could come over for the night without it being awkward.

 

The rest of the lunch is dominated by Oikawa-led small-talk, all half-smiles and sparkly eyes and theatrics. It’s all an act, and Hajime knows it, but it’s a carefully put together act, one that threatens to burst at the slightest nudge. Hajime remembers Oikawa’s white knuckles on the spoon, and decides not to press the issue.

 

Instead, he just laughs at all the appropriate moments, smiles when there’s a lull in conversation.

 

Maybe Oikawa was rubbing off on him more than he’d like to admit.

 

* * *

 

 

They arrive at the rink a good half hour early, despite Oikawa’s best efforts.

 

“Iwa-chan! We could have stayed an extra fifteen minutes at the ramen place!”

“We happened to catch the bus right on time, Trashykawa. If we’d stayed longer, we might have missed the bus. Besides, what else were you gonna do?”

 

“I could have ordered dessert, you monster!”

 

“Aren’t you dieting?”

 

“Not for two more days, Iwa-chan! I need to enjoy the fruits of life before I’m robbed of all of them!” Oikawa presses a hand to his chest theatrically.

 

“You don’t even eat that much,” Hajime says with a hard stare.

 

“That is a _lie_ , Iwa-chan! I eat a perfect amount, because _I’m_ perfect.”

 

“I’m gonna kill you, Shittykawa.”

 

“Iwa-chan can try,” Oikawa chirps, “but he won’t succeed! Go get dressed, or Sawamura-kun might kill you first!”

 

Oikawa is already striding off before Hajime can respond, so he just resolves to holler “Shittykawa!” in the skater’s general direction, before disappearing into the locker room.

 

Bokuto is, strangely enough, already there. With Kuroo.

 

“Hey hey hey! It’s Iwaizumi! Iwa-man!” Bokuto waves at Hajime, and he blinks at the similarities between Iwa-man and Iwa-chan. All Iwa-related nicknames make him hear Oikawa’s gremlin voice in his thoughts.

 

“Bokuto,” he says with a nod, smiling at the other man, offering up another nod to Kuroo as well. “Nice to see you guys! I figured you’d be late.”

 

“Kuroo told me practice was at three-thirty, so we’ve been here for, like, five minutes.”

 

“It’s four-ten.”

 

“I mean, yeah. We got smoothies!” Bokuto holds up the smoothie. Hajime swivels to gaze at Kuroo.

 

The cat-like goalie shrugs. “Hey, man. Don’t knock the smoothies. They’re good.”

 

“Also, can you like, thank Oikawa for vacating the apartment last night? Kenma and I didn’t, like, get anything dirty, but it was nice to have the place to ourselves.”

 

“You can just thank him yourself, you know.”

 

“You’re always with him,” Kuroo counters, taking a long sip of his smoothie.

 

“I’m not always with Shittykawa.”

 

“Where were you thirty minutes ago?”

 

Hajime pauses. “At a ramen place.”

 

“With..?”

 

“People in it.”

 

“Did anyone walk you to the ramen place?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And that someone was Oikawa Tooru, was it not?”

 

A sigh leaves Hajime. “Yes, it was.”

 

“Point proven! Tell Oikawa thanks for me.”

 

He’s not _always_ with Oikawa. He literally just met the skater like, three days ago.

 

And spent almost every hour of those three days with him, but that’s beside the point.

 

Hajime gets dressed for practice. He can’t deny that he’s been accompanied by Oikawa for most of the past three days, but it hasn’t been that bad, honestly. The brunette isn’t horrible company, even if he’s pompous at times.

 

Plus, he was sort of intriguing, in a weird way. All that pompousness was concealing something—something like deep-rooted insecurities, maybe. The way he gripped that spoon was hardly healthy.

 

* * *

 

 

Practice is pretty uneventful, all things considered. Hajime runs through basic drills for the umpteenth time since the season started, before they do a mock scrimmage.

 

All in all, pretty standard.

 

Hajime steps off the ice to go find Oikawa—not to hang out, despite Kuroo’s potential claims otherwise—and get his ice skating lessons started.

 

It’s then that he notices there’s a boy with short black hair standing near the figure skating rink, talking lowly with Ushijima and the figure skating coach.

 

As he gets closer, Hajime realizes that it’s Kageyama Tobio, the genius prodigy that seemed to captive far too much of Oikawa’s attention.

 

“..prove yourself at the next competition, and we’ll talk about scholarships,” Hajime can hear the coach saying, and he blinks. Is Kageyama already being offered scholarships? He can’t imagine Oikawa will take that news particularly well.

 

Ushijima nods along with the coach’s words, adding something in a hushed tone. Kageyama looks as though he’s about to leave, idly nodding, before a figure clad in a noxious pink shirt skates up right next to the group, leaning on the wall separating them.

 

Oikawa.

 

“Yoo-hoo! Long time no see, Tobio-chan!” The nickname is definitely diminutive, especially from the way Oikawa ruffles Kageyama’s hair with a poisonous smile.

 

“Oikawa,” Kageyama says blithely.

 

“I heard you’re living it up at Karasuno,” Oikawa begins, smiling brighter. “I bet it’s a lot easier now that me and Refreshing-kun aren’t around to make you look bad, right?”

 

Ushijima snorts, but the coach just stares at Oikawa with a strange expression.

 

Kageyama’s face goes slightly red, and he looks like he’s about to devolve into a biting outburst.

 

Which, upon reflection, is probably Oikawa’s intention.

 

“I-” Kageyama’s interrupted by the coach, who calmly steps up just beside Oikawa.

 

“Kageyama will be competing in the preliminaries as well, Oikawa. You’ll be able to catch up there.”

 

Oikawa smiles at the coach, and Hajime can see the man visibly relax. Clearly, he’d been expecting an outburst from both of the prodigies, but Oikawa’s not the type to blatantly show anger.

 

“Don’t make stupid mistakes, okay Tobio-chan? I want the chance to crush my dear underclassman all by myself, not because you tripped on a skate.”

 

Kageyama stiffens, but another skater glides over towards Oikawa to murmur something. Oikawa nods, stretching like a cat.

 

“Bye, Tobio-chan! See you at preliminaries!” He winks at Kageyama, skating off.

 

Just as Oikawa turns to go, however, his eyes meet Hajime’s, and something unreadable passes within those amber depths.

 

“He means well,” the coach adds after Oikawa’s skated off.

 

Kageyama huffs. “I bet,” he offers gruffly, as if that’s an answer.

 

The two walk off, while Ushijima pauses, gaze canting about the gym before settling on…

 

Oh, shit. He’s walking towards Hajime.

 

“You’re Iwaizumi, right?”

 

Hajime pauses, before nodding, leaning on his stick. “That’s me, yeah.”

 

“Do not distract Oikawa. I plan to have this year be the first year we send _two_ skaters to the Olympics.”

 

“I barely even know Oikawa,” Hajime says, raising an eyebrow.

 

Ushijima just stares at him.

 

“I did not ask for the intimate details of your relationship,” he finally says, “only that you are not a distraction to one of my star skaters.”

 

“..Right. Like I said. Barely know him, we met three days ago.”

 

Ushijima stares for a moment longer, before walking off,

 

Hajime decides, right then and there, that Ushijima is actually, definitely as weird as Oikawa had said he was.

 

Oikawa steps off the ice right at that moment, waving at Hajime.

 

“Iwa-chan! Why are you just staring off into space? Did your lack of brain finally catch up to you?”

 

“Shut up, Shittykawa.”

 

“Aw, is Iwa-chan sad? I didn’t mean it!”

 

Hajime glares. “Shittykawa.”

 

“Iwa-chan!”

 

He crosses his arms. “Are we gonna practice, Trashykawa?”

 

Oikawa smiles. “I’ve got so much planned for us, Iwa-chan!”

 

The brunette grabs Hajime’s hand and yanks him towards the edge of the rink, instructing him to change into his skates. Hajime tries not to punch Oikawa in the face for the shit-eating grin the skater now wore, staring down at Hajime as he began lacing up his skates.

 

God, this was going to be a _long_ day, wasn’t it?

 

* * *

 

 

Hajime manages to do a few bunny hops, and some mohawks—which he’d already learned, thankfully—and is shocked to find that Oikawa is actually...not a terrible teacher.

 

“You learn quickly, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa chimes, clapping his hands. “Are you trying to show off? I don’t think anyone’s watching you.”

 

Hajime sighs. “What’s next, Trashykawa?”

 

Oikawa laughs. “We only have five minutes left, but it’s so good to see Iwa-chan is excited! We’re going to try a waltz jump.”

 

The brunette breezes into the aforementioned jump, sliding in a backwards circle around Hajime, holding his right side-edge. Most of the terms for the skates are similar, if not the same, and it’s not too hard to figure out what Oikawa is doing. It looks like a bunny hop, only Oikawa turns in the air and lands in a backwards spiral motion.

 

Hajime blinks.

 

“Do it again,” he asks, and Oikawa nods, clapping his hands together once more.

 

“Iwa-chan is so studious!” Hajime rolls his eyes, and Oikawa begins the motions once more. His pace is much slower than when he’s doing his own skating—to help Hajime learn, he realizes—and he smiles slightly.

 

Once Oikawa’s finished the jump, Hajime nods.

 

“I think I can...try it.”

 

Oikawa motions for him to do so, smiling. The smile seems genuine, and it almost catches Hajime off guard. Oikawa’s whole face lights up when he smiles like that, and his eyes seem to regain a bit of the childlike wonder he so often manufactures, as though the relief from being made bereft of their falsities ignites some youthful glitter once more.

 

“Iwa-chan? Earth to Iwa-chan?”

 

“What? Oh, sorry. The jump.”

 

Hajime takes in a deep breath, moving in the backwards circle like he’d seen Oikawa do. This is easy, he tries to convince himself.

 

Slowly, much slower than Oikawa’s demonstration, Hajime completes the circle, pushes off from his skate, and—

 

He can tell it’s wrong the second he leaves the ice. Like a true hockey player, he had placed too much emphasis on his toe, and he was now wobbling in the air.

 

Seconds later, Hajime hits the ice _hard_. It’s nothing severe, but it’s enough to knock the wind straight out of him as he falls. Bright lights swim before his eyes, before suddenly, there’s a mess of brunette hair in his face, big pools of chocolate staring down at him.

 

“Iwa-chan!” Hajime feels a finger tap his cheek, and he snaps back to reality. “Iwa-chan, are you alright?”

 

“I’m fine. Just got the wind knocked out of me, that’s all.”

 

Oikawa narrows his eyes. “Did you hit your head?”

 

“I’m _fine,_ Trashykawa.”

 

“Iwa-chan! I’m trying to _help,_ you big oaf!”

 

Hajime snorts. “Then help me up.”

 

“Recite the months backwards.”

 

Hajime is two things: a spiteful man who will take any advantage to tell Oikawa that he’s wrong, and also, a sports medicine major. “You do realize how outdated that is, right?”

 

“What?”

 

“Most people can’t recite the months backwards without being concussed, dumbass.”

 

“Isn’t it about the _process_?” Oikawa questions, mouth upturned in a smug look. He’s not entirely incorrect—that was why they’d originally begun using it—but Hajime will die before he tells Oikawa he’s any sort of correct.

 

“You’re such a dumbass, dumbass.”

 

Oikawa sticks his tongue out at Hajime. “Iwa-chan is so _mean_! I’m just being a good samaritan, and you’re attacking me!”

 

“Quit acting like a petulant child and help me up. Ice is slippery.”

 

The tongue goes back out, and Oikawa looks as though he’s about to skate off and leave Hajime to an icy fate.

 

Then his hands are outstretched, and suddenly Hajime’s are seized, and _why are his hands so soft isn’t he an athlete_.

 

Hajime is back on his feet a few seconds later, Oikawa’s too-soft hands trailing away. Something strange swims in the depths of Oikawa’s eyes, twin wells of deep, dark brown, full of mystery and intrigue

 

“That’s it for practice today, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa smiles, skating in a small circle around Hajime, as though he needs to move.

 

Hajime blinks, peering at the clock. Practice should have ended ten minutes ago, but they’d been working on the jumps.

 

“Are you riding the bus back?”

 

Oikawa blinks, smiling slyly. It doesn’t touch his eyes.

 

“Is Iwa-chan missing my company so quickly?”

 

Hajime rolls his eyes. “No, dumbass. I need to mentally prepare for you taking up the seat next to me and talking my ear off for the rest of the night.”

 

The brunette giggles, but he shakes his head, brown curls tossing themselves side to side. “I won’t be riding the bus tonight. Ushijima said he’d give me a ride home after I finished practice, whenever that is.”

 

Oikawa staying late makes Hajime nervous, as though he’ll push himself too hard.

 

_Teardrops sizzling upon an ice rink._

 

He knows, in some deep part of his mind, that Oikawa will _always_ push himself too hard, and there’s nothing Hajime can do about that.

 

But that doesn’t stop him from reaching out to put a hand on Oikawa’s shoulder, voice quiet as he speaks.

 

“Make sure you get sleep, Shittykawa. If you practice too hard, you’ll be even worse off.”

 

Oikawa smiles in that way that Hajime knows means he’s not really hearing, not really present in the moment before him. It’s a dreamlike, clouded smile, full of half-lucid promises and sleepless facades.

 

“Of course, Iwa-chan. Some of us still care about our beauty sleep!” He pouts. “Although, I don’t think any amount of beauty sleep could save you now, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa pats Hajime’s cheek and skates towards the other edge of the rink, waving at Ushijima and a man that Hajime recognizes as Oikawa’s private coach.

 

_Don’t do anything stupid, Trashykawa._

 

_Please._

 

* * *

 

 

Hajime takes extra time to pull off his gear, hoping that Oikawa will somehow reconsider and come bolting towards him as he’s leaving to tell him that he’s coming with.

 

He can’t quite figure out why. Sure, he cares about Oikawa, but Oikawa’s an adult, fully capable of making his own decisions. He’d been making decisions for eighteen years without Hajime.

 

And yet, Hajime just can’t wipe Sugawara’s words from his mind, wipe the obsessive way Oikawa typed into the laptop at three a.m., the way he twisted his words like a knife into Kageyama’s skin.

 

It wasn’t malice, Hajime belatedly realizes. No, the expression he’d seen cross Oikawa’s face as Kageyama had crept up had been...fear. Anxiety. Strong enough to melt away even Oikawa’s mask, strong enough to make him slip up.

 

Why does Hajime even care? He’s obsessing over someone else’s mannerisms. He pushes all thought of Oikawa from his mind as Bokuto and Kuroo barrel into the locker room, Bokuto’s white-tipped hair shoved in every direction and Kuroo’s perfectly styled pseudo-bedhead flat on his head.

 

“Hey hey hey,” Bokuto hollers, rubbing Hajime’s head. “Saw you skating with Oikawa! That jump was so cool!”

 

Kuroo nods decisively. “Yeah, that was sick. Hanamaki and I just did, like, the basic stuff. Which is fine, but I wanna do some sick jumps.”

 

He shrugs. “I took some figure skating classes on the side. I guess I just pick it up easier, even now.”

 

“Ah, maybe. I took a few, but I was always just thinking about hockey,” Kuroo admits, rubbing the back of his neck.

 

Bokuto laughs. “Me, too!”

 

Hajime chuckles along with the white-haired boy, smiling. “I’m sure you’ll get to do jumps soon. Oikawa just likes things to go at a specific pace, and that pace is a lot faster than you might think.”

 

Kuroo laughs.

 

“I’m pretty sure Oikawa moves at the pace everyone expects him to, honestly. A thousand miles a minute, both in skating and talking.”

 

Bokuto nods. “I saw videos of him skating. He moves so fast, it’s like…”

 

“Lightning McQueen,” Kuroo says sagely.

 

The white-haired striker gapes. “You read my mind, bro!”

 

Hajime just...stares.

 

“Lightning McQueen? Are you comparing Shittykawa to Lightning McQueen?”

 

“Uh, yeah. Duh. Did you just call him Shittykawa?”

 

“Unimportant. Don’t ever compare him to Lightning McQueen to his face, or we’ll _literally_ never hear the end of it.”

 

“Okay, whatever, but like, why did you call him Shittykawa?” Kuroo seems unhealthily intrigued.

 

“It’s faster than Shitty Oikawa.”

 

“You guys like, just met, bro.” Bokuto is standing next to Kuroo, now, arms crossed.

 

“Okay, fine, forget I said it.”

 

“I feel like there’s a deeper issue here,” Kuroo says, a serious expression on his face. It’s ruined by the mirth in his eyes.

 

“Yeah, bro. Sit down. Talk to Kuroo. I know his hair is totally throwing off the vibe, but he’s like, actually smart.”

 

Hajime is baffled at the scene before him.

 

“I’m alright, but thanks, Kuroo.”

 

Bokuto sighs. “Alright, bro. You do you.”

 

He slips out of the locker room before the weirdness continues. Bokuto and Kuroo are fun, but when you spend too long around them, you start questioning reality.

 

And Hajime is _far_ too tired, and far too sober, to be questioning reality.

 

He’s leaving the ice rink when he hears that same sound of skates on ice, powerful and echoing. It’s not the discordant chaos accompanied by an unfortunate tumble into the freezing floor; no, it’s a strong, elegant noise, and Hajime turns his head to find the source.

 

Of course, it’s Oikawa. Some strange pop song is blasting over the speakers next to his rink, and he’s literally dancing across the ice. Skates twist and slide and bounce all over the cold surface, and it’s so completely _Oikawa_ , from the way he glides across the ice, to the wink he flashes towards where the crowd will surely be in a little over a week.

 

“Faster,” his coach barks, and Hajime blinks, slinking behind one of the stands to watch without being watched in return.

 

Oikawa seamlessly takes the critique, skates slipping along the ice even faster than before. Hajime is completely captivated with the way Oikawa starts twirling, skate glittering in the fluorescent lights of the ice rink.

 

It’s breathtaking, and Hajime-

 

“You’ve never seen him skate, have you?” Sugawara’s voice pulls him from his reverie.

 

“Err, not like this, no.” They keep their voices low, so they don’t disturb the practice. Sugawara smiles pleasantly.

 

“He’s even better at the free skate, you know. Honestly, this is a bit sloppy,” he says, winking. “Kageyama excels at the short program, and so does Ushijima, but Oikawa usually wipes the floor with _everyone_ during his free skate. If you go to the competition, you’ll see it for yourself.”

 

The competition. That’d been a question hanging in the air, at least for Hajime. He knew he didn’t really have to go—the hockey team usually went to show their support, but it was far from mandatory—but he was so _busy_ , and also whenever he thought about it he got a weird pit in his stomach that he didn’t really feel like addressing and-

 

“You can come with Daichi and I,” Sugawara murmurs, resting a hand on Hajime’s arm. “It’s no worries. Oikawa would probably like to see you there, too.”

 

“What do you mean?” Hajime tilts his head to the side.

 

“He doesn’t have very many close friends. People admire him, but nobody really takes any time to get to know him. You’ve known him for like, four days, and you’re already one of the only people I’ve seen show any genuine interest in him beyond the superficial. He’d appreciate someone who actually cares about him being there.”

 

Hajime snorts. “He probably just wants me to go watch him ‘absolutely destroy Tobio-chan’.”

 

The grey-haired skater chuckles. “Has he mentioned anything about Kageyama? I know he gets antsy around him.”

 

_Just an obsession about Googling his latest routines._

 

_Oh, and trying to bring him to tears._

 

“Not really, no. He’s been pretty relaxed, aside from Googling him like, once to show me a routine or something. I was half-asleep.”

 

Sugawara squints, but ends up shrugging, turning his attention back towards the skating rink.

 

“Just don’t get so wrapped up in trying to care for Oikawa that you forget to take care of yourself. I know, he’s kind of a mess. But keep your boundaries clear. He’s a good person, at least from what I remember, but it’s really easy for someone who doesn’t have anyone to end up relying too much on one person. Make sure you don’t get caught up in the mix of it.”

 

Hajime nods. The bubblegum pop music begins to die down, and both Sugawara and Hajime take it as their queue to leave. They slip out from behind the stands without a word, trailing towards the door.

 

Once they’re out into the crisp September air, Sugawara offers Hajime a wave and heads towards the parking lot. Hajime makes a beeline towards the bus, which has just pulled in for what is most likely the last routine for the night.

 

As soon as he’s safely on the bus, he settles into a seat and pulls out his phone, shoving headphones into his head.

 

Just as the music’s starting to lull Hajime in, head leaned against the window and gaze distant, a text notification chimes through his headphones. He groans.

 

[10:24 PM]trashykawa: did u enjoy the show iwa-chan

[10:24 PM]Iwaizumi Hajime: What do you mean

[10:24 PM]trashykawa: i saw u stalking me behind the stands!

[10:25 PM]Iwaizumi Hajime: Sugawara and I were just having a normal conversation

[10:25 PM]Iwaizumi Hajime: Like normal people

[10:25 PM]trashykawa: if it were anyone else and suga i’d believe it

[10:25 PM]trashykawa: but ur about as normal as

[10:25 PM]trashykawa: um

[10:25 PM]trashykawa: godzilla

[10:25 PM]Iwaizumi Hajime: There’s nothing wrong with Godzilla

[10:26 PM]Iwaizumi Hajime: Also I’m perfectly normal

[10:26 PM]trashykawa: why were u more insulted for godzilla than for yourself

[10:27 PM]trashykawa: that’s not normal!!!!!!

[10:27 PM]Iwaizumi Hajime: Because Godzilla isn’t here to defend himself

[10:27 PM]Iwaizumi Hajime: But I am

[10:27 PM]trashykawa: oh my god

[10:27 PM]trashykawa: iwa-chan u sound like BASTARDWAKA rn

[10:27 PM]trashykawa: always talking about how he has to defend the honor of his plants

[10:27 PM]trashykawa: he’s like a fucking lorax

[10:28 PM]Iwaizumi Hajime: I bet you would defend the aliens

[10:28 PM]trashykawa: THEY DESERVE TO BE DEFENDED!!

[10:28 PM]Iwaizumi Hajime: And Godzilla doesn’t ?

[10:28 PM]trashykawa: iwa-chan he killed like sOoOo many ppl

[10:28 PM]Iwaizumi Hajime: We all make mistakes

[10:28 PM]trashykawa: oh my god ur a godzilla apologist

[10:28 PM]Iwaizumi Hajime: Is that even a thing

[10:29 PM]trashykawa: yes it totally is

[10:29 PM]trashykawa: ok as much as i would like 2 continue debating godzilla being a literal murderer

[10:29 PM]trashykawa: bastardwaka and coach r calling 4 me

[10:29 PM]trashykawa: nd i dont wanna get yelled at AGAIN

[10:29 PM]trashykawa: so bye iwa-chan!! see u tmrw

[10:30 PM]Iwaizumi Hajime: Get some sleep dumbass

[10:30 PM]trashykawa: read at 10:30

[10:30 PM]Iwaizumi Hajime: That’s not how it works dumbass

[10:30 PM]trashykawa: bYe iwa-chan!!!!

[10:30 PM]Iwaizumi Hajime: Goodbye stupid

 

Hajime stares at the text messages. Should he have pushed Oikawa harder to take a break?

 

No, he tells himself. Sugawara had warned him not to take on Oikawa’s problems as his own, and so he wouldn’t. He’d just hope for the best.

 

That doesn’t make him feel any better as he stares at his ceiling, wondering how many nights like this it would take until Oikawa combusted in a spectacular explosion.

 

_The star that burns twice as long burns half as long._

 

_Please, Oikawa._

 

_Don’t burn too bright._

 

* * *

 

 


End file.
